


you dye your hands the colour blue

by ilikeyougreenie



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dorks in Love, Kissing, M/M, This Is STUPID, alex thinks hank is adorable, florist!hank, hank is a dork, non-mutant au, tattoo artist!alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeyougreenie/pseuds/ilikeyougreenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had been working there for just over three weeks now, and while he had become a pro in choosing and wrapping bouquets, he still hated bloody flowers. Plus, he had to wear a pair of surgical gloves whenever handling the damn things; although his allergies had settled down as he had aged, they still had the tendency to flare up every now and again, and thus he managed to look like a complete and utter tit every single day.</p><p>Which was not helpful when you happened to work right next-door to possibly the most beautiful boy on the planet.</p><p>Who also happened to be a tattoo artist.</p><p>Hank is legitimately a walking stereotype. And he hates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you dye your hands the colour blue

**Author's Note:**

> hola!!!! i don't even know what this is to be honest. i took the florist/tattoo artist idea and i ran with it. please note that i have no freakin knowledge of flowers or tattoos or piercings or anything so this is probably not v accurate... oh well, YOLO, as the kids would most certainly say. i hope you enjoy!! debating whether or not to make this a multi-chap fic or leave it as it is... leave your opinion in the comments or get in touch with me on tumblr ( URL: earl-grey-moriartea )!!! title stolen from a years & years song because i love them more than life. rac x

Hank never really liked flowers.

 

They tended to make his eyes water and the sensitive spots behind his ears itch like hell, so he generally kept his distance from anything remotely flowery as he grew up. It wasn’t easy; growing up a queer kid in the States meant that thoroughly exhausted tropes were still adopted by all, and it was expected of him to spend his spare time frolicking through the daisies whilst plotting a seismic shift in society by daring to like _boys_.

 

However, he was 19 now, a fairly fresh face in the big bad world of work, and desperately needed a job on the side while he applied for a position within the CIA. So his friend Raven, _lovely girl_ , offered him a shift in her florist.

 

His initial response was to point blank refuse to be within even 5 metres of anything with petals of leaves. However, the need to actually survive outweighed the ‘gay boy that loves all things flowery’ stereotype that lingered at the back of his mind, and so he took the job.

 

He had been working there for just over three weeks now, and while he had become a pro in choosing and wrapping bouquets, he still hated bloody flowers. Plus, he had to wear a pair of surgical gloves whenever handling the damn things; although his allergies had settled down as he had aged, they still had the tendency to flare up every now and again, and thus he managed to look like a complete and utter tit every single day.

 

Which was not helpful when you happened to work right next-door to possibly the most beautiful boy on the planet.

 

Who also happened to be a tattoo artist.

 

Hank is legitimately a walking stereotype. And he hates it.

 

But this boy is beautiful, with messy blond hair that tends to fall into his eyes and numerous tattoos and piercings that serve to confirm his occupation, and in making him astronomically hotter (if that is even possible).

 

Hank knows next to nothing about him, besides his job and the clothes he generally wears to work every day. He tends to stomp past the florist at 9:03 every morning, dressed in the same ripped jeans and leather jacket, and pushes through the glass door into the studio next door, owned by a complete crack-head named Sean.

 

By all accounts, the studio was pretty good. Raven had been in once to get a rather generic butterfly tattoo on her foot. It hadn’t been amputated yet, which Hank took to be a good sign.

 

This particular day is no different than usual. Hank opens the florist at 8:30am, has his first customer by around 8:45, and looks up to find the blond traipsing past at 9:03 on the dot. Today, the boy is dressed in a skin-tight muscle vest, which shows off the elegant sleeve tattoos snaking down both of his arms, and a sliver of inked skin just above the waistband of his jeans. And the latter, ripped as usual, serving to showcase the colourful tattoos that appeared to adorn his thighs and calves.

 

Hank is positively drooling within two seconds of seeing the mystery blond, which causes his elderly customer to tut obnoxiously and mutter something about “homosexuals and their raging sex drive”. When the blond disappears from view, Hank snaps out of his stupor and turns back to the bouquet of lilies he was busy tying together prior to his little episode.

 

Once he has sent Mrs Newton on her way with her bunch of lilies and a _“take care”_ , Hank sets about meticulously tidying up the already immaculate buckets of flowers dotted around the shop. He gets so absorbed into his work, he doesn’t even register the bell above the door ringing to signify that he has a customer, and is significantly startled when a light tap lands upon his shoulder.

 

(Okay, so maybe he let out a very high-pitched scream and almost leapt into the flower display but y’know, _details_.)

 

Once he righted himself, Hank looked up with a  “hello” upon his lips, which promptly withered as he laid eyes on his customer.

 

There stood mystery blond, a smirk playing upon his lips, one pierced eyebrow raised a slight fraction.

 

Hank bit the corner of his lip, brushing down the front of his apron before shooting the boy a nervous smile, spreading his arm out around the shop in an enviably elegant gesture.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Maybe you can.” The blond smirked suggestively, his gaze wandering Hank’s body lazily, causing the latter to simultaneously shift uncomfortably yet also feel a little weak at the knees at the sheer _intensity_ of those eyes.

 

“Flowers!” Hank burst out suddenly, standing up straight and bustling across the shop to hide the pretty blush that was rising up his neck. “What kind of flowers do you need? Roses?” Hank blurted, picking up a bucket of blood red roses and thrusting them out towards the blond, putting a few feet of space between them.

 

“Um-”

 

“No? How ‘bout tulips? Geraniums? Chrysanthemums? Daffodils?” Hank rambled, gesturing wildly to the buckets of said flowers, blatantly trying to cover his nerves, and making a crude job of it.

 

“Dude, calm down.” The blond chuckled, wrestling the bucket of roses from Hank’s vice-like grip and setting them back down on the floor. “You’re doing a shit job of hiding your nerves, by the way. Nothin’ to be nervous of, I’m a nice guy.” The boy then gave a shark-like grin; terrifying, _but fucking hot_ , Hank’s mind supplied helpfully.

 

“Sorry.” Hank took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Let me start again. Can I help you?”

 

Mystery blond swallowed his laughter, extending a hand towards Hank by way of introduction (with a little less checking out this time).

 

“’M Alex. I work at the studio next door and I’ve got a customer coming in for a floral sleeve tomorrow afternoon. Only problem is, I’m shit at flowers, so I was hoping you might be able to help me choose some that would look cool on a tattoo?”

 

“Sure thing.” Hank nodded, his expression akin to an eager puppy as he began moving around the shop, gathering up a bunch of flowers as he went. Once he was satisfied, he made his way back to the counter and laid them all out in a neat line, beckoning Alex over to survey the selection. “Okay, so I know shit about tattoos, but these are some of my favourite flowers that might be useful.”

 

Alex nodded thoughtfully, sucking on his lip ring absentmindedly as he looked over the array of flowers spread out before him; white roses and bright pink lilies and dainty little bluebells and exotic bird of paradise and sweet peas and a multitude more. 

 

"Jesus Christ, could you have given me a bigger selection?" Alex chuckled, gaze flicking up to Hank momentarily before crawling back over the stems. Hank scrunched his nose slightly, shifting his glasses up a little and shrugging. 

 

"Well, there were some flowers that I didn't choose so I guess I could've given you a bigger selection, yes." 

 

Alex snorted in response, resting his chin on his palm and looking back up at Hank. 

 

"How about you give me a handful of these flowers, and in return I give you the offer of a free tattoo?"

 

"Tattoos really aren't my thing but-"

 

"Perfect, I was hoping you'd say that. How about dinner instead?" Alex grinned, scooping a few of the stems into his arms. 

 

"I, uh, sure, I-" Hank stammered, a slow blush creeping up his neck once again, _goddammit_ , only for Alex to drop the flowers he was holding and tug Hank down into a bruising kiss. The blond curled his fingers into Hank's collar, muttering a series of somewhat unintelligible words, _you'refuckingadorableohmygodsuchabozo_ , against Hank's lips, the latter eventually responding enough to thread his fingers into Alex's locks. They soon broke apart as a result of a mutual need for air, breathing heavily against one another's lips with their foreheads pressed together. 

 

"God, you're adorable. See you later, Hank." Alex winked, his lips curling up into that shark-like grin once again as he regathered his flowers and backed his way out of the shop, leaving Hank frozen behind the counter. 

 

Well. He was _so_ screwed. 

 

 

 


End file.
